Just Another Pretty Face
by aletheakatherine
Summary: Set post CA:TWS, taking some liberties with the timeline and details of events in the Marvel universe. I wrote this a couple of years ago, but I'd always been wanting to post it; so here it is...dedicated to Shadows of a Dream, because her writing was a huge part of what inspired me to write my Captain America fics.
It's a Stark party.

You would've thought that, after the disaster at Tony's last birthday party - drunken Iron Man hashing it out with his best friend, metal against metal, screaming guests and angry politicians - maybe, just maybe, Tony would think the better of it and hold off for a while. But, just like the rest of the Avengers, the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D. - hell, the rest of the world - Steve knew that sometime or other, Tony just wouldn't be able to resist. "It's been a few years, things have changed, it's gonna be fun" - yeah, right. But it's not like anyone was going to be able to change Iron Man's mind, of course. Not like they could ever get him to diminish his over-inflated ego one bit.

So, here they are, a few years later, the first real "let's just hang out" occasion for the Avengers, and Tony - womanizer that he is - is flirting with some red-headed girl in the corner, and drinks are passing around, and Steve is turning down ladies and alcohol alike, and wondering why on Earth Natasha isn't here (wondering where on Earth she's been for the last three years, in fact) because it's not like her to miss out on Barton and Stark and a party. Not like she's aged much - Black Widows never do, they're practically immortal - but Steve wonders what she looks like now. She's probably changed her hair again or something. She's always doing undercover jobs and that means she's always pretending to be someone else.

Hawkeye's come down from his "nest" for once, dressed in a suit and tie like a true gentleman. He glances around, spots Steve, strides over. "Gotta admit, the Starks sure know how to throw a party," he says with a sideways grin. Well, that all depends on taste, Steve thinks, scanning the lines of girls doing kicklines on stage. But he doesn't say that, just nods. Barton laughs. "I guess it's not really your style, eh?" He waits for a moment, then frowns slightly. "Hate to bring down the mood of the party, Cap, but I'm a little worried - you seen Agent Romanoff around at all?"

Steve catches sight of Sharon coming towards him through the crowd, her heels clicking prettily, and glances absently at Barton. "Nah," he says casually, not having bothered to really look for Natasha. "Not really." He thinks of the other girl, the girl he misses, lets himself remember.

"You been missing her, Clint?" laughs Sharon, cradling her wine glass in delicate fingers as she turns, stepping to Steve's side. He loops an arm around her shoulders automatically. After Natasha had told him to "do her a favor" and ask Sharon out, he had - several times - though each time he felt himself wishing he was talking to, holding, kissing another girl. He pushes that thought away roughly, just in time to hear Barton's rough laugh.

"Nat's a friend, Agent Carter. A good one. We were close." He looks off into the distance. "We went through a lot together - she always had my back, I always had hers. I guess I've just become a little protective of her, naturally."

Sharon smiles and lets that statement stand. Tony's speaking from the stage now, Pepper having replaced the other girl at his side, his words booming out across the arena. "I gotta say, this is the best birthday party I've had in a long time. You guys have been _fabulous_." He cuts the last word into three syllables, emphasizing each. "The best part is getting buddy time with my friends the Avengers, who just happen to have saved the world a few times in recent years. They brought their girls with them, too, and I'd like to give them a little shout-out." He gestures, and Steve realizes suddenly that Tony wants them on stage. He's about to refuse, but then Pepper spots him in the crowd and he'd hate to disappoint her: the poor woman goes through so much stress with Tony, Steve figures she could use a little help and cooperation for once.

So he grabs Sharon's hand with his trademark Captain America smile, the one that looks almost tentative, and mounts the stage between Clint Barton and Bruce Banner. Thor's on the other end, giving the audience his "I am a god" smile as he holds Jane Foster's hand tightly, his scientist of a girlfriend beaming charmingly down at the people below her. Tony and Pepper are standing in front of Banner, their backs to the audience as they greet their friends. Steve tries hard to remember the party's only just started, and tries not to dread it too much.

"Hey," Tony says, reaching Steve. "Good going, Cap. I'm glad you lost the star-spangled spandex pajamas."

"Good to see you, too," Steve says nonchalantly, as Sharon giggles helplessly beside him.

Pepper shoots Tony a look and smiles sweetly at Steve, flirting a little. "I'm so glad you're here, Steve," she says. "It's really nice to see you."

"You too, Miss Potts," he says. "Always a pleasure."

Next to him, Tony's shaking Barton's hand, greeting him, and Barton puts up with it for a little bit, before blurting, "No Nat?"

Tony shrugs. "Never can tell what she's up to nowadays," he says, winking.

That's not an answer and they all know it, but Tony's moved on and Barton lets it go. Pepper gives Barton and Steve an apologetic look and trails after her boyfriend, exchanging pleasantries with Thor and complimenting Jane on her dress. She _is_ pretty, Steve thinks, her brown hair falling over her shoulders and her eyes soft - and the dress is nice too. But he can think of prettier girls, and ones with more personality, too.

"I guess they didn't invite Fury?" Sharon says into Steve's ear.

He shrugs. "Would you want Fury at _your_ birthday party?" he asks sotto voce, trying not to grin. "When you get into trouble as often as Stark does?"

She just grins back.

No wisecrack. He misses wisecracks a little, to be honest. Not for the sake of the wisecracks, but because of the person who uttered them. He ignores that little feeling in his stomach, in his chest, the way his heart constricts a little, and tries not to remember another girl, another day, a kiss in the past that seems so long ago. (Was it even real? Sometimes it's so vivid, and sometimes it feels like a fairy tale, like it never happened anyway.)

"Having a bad day?" Barton says apologetically as they descend the steps from the stage to the dance floor.

"What's that?" Steve says absently, not paying attention.

"You look a little sad," he says.

"Oh. Sorry," he says, sensing Sharon watching him curiously. He can see some other people watching him curiously, too. A dark-haired girl with bright eyes, Tony's redhead from before, a ditzy blonde and her bronze-haired boyfriend (or brother, he's not sure which). Steve glances around uncomfortably, adds vaguely, "Peggy," though it hurts a little to say it.

"Right." That's a semi-forbidden topic, or at least Barton seems to think so, because he backs down (and Steve's glad, because everybody else turns away at that point). It's true, he does miss Peggy, and that dark-haired girl reminded him of Peggy, and it does hurt to think about her. But maybe, just maybe, he's lying to himself when he says it's just about Peggy. Maybe he _is_ trying to hide from the real pain. Sometimes it's so much _easier_ to just hide...he looks back at the people who were staring at him, and only the redhead returns his gaze. Then she turns away, just like the rest, turning her back on him - and Steve thinks disgustedly that soon one of those girls will be breathing down Tony's neck again and Pepper will be flirting with someone else and the whole party will just be a repeat of the same thing, over and over and over again…

Something crosses his mind suddenly, and he starts towards the redhead, his eyes taking in her hair - just longer than shoulder-length, straight and tidy, not a smidgen out of place - a name ringing through his head. Barton is looking for her - maybe Steve can help. But as soon as he taps her shoulder and she turns, his eyes searching hers, he knows he was wrong. Not Natasha. Definitely not Natasha. He feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment and tries not to notice the stares he's getting from the dark-haired girl and a couple of the guys. "Sorry," he says quickly to the redhead. "I, uh...I'll get out of your hair now." He cringes at his choice of words - _that wasn't meant to be a pun_ \- and turns away quickly.

He's right about the girls. Pretty soon the blonde is slow-dancing with Tony, clearly thinking she's sexy and sophisticated, even though her arms are everywhere and she's anything but elegant. The next to take her turn is the dark-haired girl, and she's better than the blonde, easier to watch, more experienced with wooing men. She flirts with Tony without being outright provocative, and Steve watches them for a long time before turning away. At some point or another, he takes Sharon to dance: she's fluid, she's beautiful, she's _good_ , and Steve tries to make himself enjoy it. (But it's kind of a contradiction to _make_ himself have fun, and that becomes clear right away.)

Finally Pepper's dancing with Tony, and Steve relaxes a little. Much better. Pepper's head and shoulders above the blonde in dancing ability and elegance, and she's actually Tony's girlfriend, as opposed to the dark-haired girl. It seems right. Besides, Tony looks like he's enjoying it just as much as Pepper - smiling the whole time, kissing her here and there, poking fun at her and grinning when she laughs.

Steve wishes he could be that happy. Maybe he missed his chance. Or maybe he never had a chance, after Peggy.

"You look sad," says a voice from beside him, and he whirls, frowning instinctively. It's the dark-haired girl, her eyes unreadable, her expression neutral - one moment he thinks she looks like she's about to smile, the next he doesn't. He doesn't have much patience with girls like this, and he just shrugs at her, putting up his iron walls; the barriers that hide his emotions, that protect him.

"Not feeling the party?" the girl says softly. "I could fix that, if you wanted me to."

Something about the wording is off, something in the way that she's not making a physical move on him, not even trying to, really. The blonde would have her hands on him by now, would be trying to give him sloppy kisses. This girl, she seems more restrained. Steve wonders who she is, wonders if he should let himself like her or not. After a long time, his eyes searching hers, he says at last, "No thanks. I can fend for myself." But he doesn't move away.

"You know, I used to think that, too," she says, and part of him thinks that there's something about her that's familiar, that he's known before, but the other part dismisses that notion as silly. Still...her words seem out of place for a party. For someone who's just one of the crowd.

He needs to be careful around this woman.

She sighs. "Well, if you aren't in the mood I won't try to harass you any more. But do try to enjoy yourself. It _is_ a party, after all, and I'm sure Mister Stark would want everybody to have a good time." She gives him one last look, her gaze intense (intense enough he almost expects them to burn a hole in him) and slips away, losing herself easily in the crowd. And sometime or other Tony's dancing with her again, because he never could let himself pass by a good woman, or a good dance, anyway.

Steve goes to find Sharon, to ask her for another dance, even though he doesn't really care for one. Anything to distract himself, to keep him from going insane.

But he sees that dark-haired girl again, not too far away, and she just won't leave him alone.

"Who is she?"

It's a couple hours later, and Barton's at Steve's shoulder, watching Tony take another turn with the dark-haired girl. Pepper's standing with them, too, looking a little jealous. "Yeah," she says, a hint of bitterness giving her words an edge. "Who _is_ she?" She shakes her head. "The last time Tony got this obsessed with another girl was when that Rushman character showed up from Legal to work at our company. After Tony made me C.E.O." She frowns. "I was about ready to sue him for ogling her like that. I actually researched some lawyers and told him he'd be facing a very time-consuming, very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit unless he quit it, right away."

Barton glances at her appreciatively. "You did?"

Pepper returns his look. "Yeah...why?"

He laughs. "Nothing, it's...nothing. Just, bravo, Pepper." He chuckles again, and Steve grins a little too, and Pepper giggles at the memory.

"He does seem a little captivated by this girl," Steve says suspiciously. "I don't know, Pepper, maybe you want to contact those lawyers again."

She laughs. "And they say Captain America doesn't have a sense of humor." She tips her head towards Steve. "I _am_ going to figure out who this girl is, though. Half the time Tony doesn't know what he's getting himself into, anymore. Even if it's some harmless flirting, I worry for him." She strides off in the direction of Tony and the girl, and Steve exchanges a look with Barton. They're just close enough to hear Pepper's pointed greeting.

"Hey. I'm glad you're giving Tony a night to remember."

The other girl smiles at Pepper, not taking the hint, possibly not catching the distinctive edge of jealousy in Pepper's words. "Hi. Miss Potts. It's an honor to see you again." She glances between Pepper and Tony. "It's been a while since we worked together, I think. Not so long since I last worked with Tony."

"Worked?" Pepper asks, her voice rising a little with incredulity, though she's obviously trying hard to keep her emotions down. "Who on Earth _are_ you? Do you guys...know each other...from before?"

Even Tony looks confused. "Not that I…"

"It was a pleasure to be here, Mister Stark," the girl says, giving him a charming smile, cutting him off mid-sentence. "I have to leave early though, I'm afraid. Happy birthday." She fords through the crowd, brushing past Steve and Barton, leaving Pepper and Tony standing dumbly on the dance floor, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Pepper turns on Tony pretty quick, her voice accusatory and shocked and nervous, and Steve turns away to let them be.

"Where are you going?" Barton asks.

Steve glances back. "That girl confronted me earlier. I'm curious." Barton just stares; Steve sighs. "I've got a hunch," Steve explains, and sprints towards the elevators.

But she's already gone.

It's really a rather ordinary day two weeks later when Steve's standing on the curb, drinking water and cooling off after his morning jog, Sam Wilson standing next to him. "Just gimme another few years and I swear I'll be able to run half as fast as you," Sam teases, and Steve smirks dubiously.

"If that's what you call running," Steve says, and Sam grins at the old joke.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Sam laughs. "What's it gonna take?"

"You gotta run _faster_ than me, next time," Steve winks, and Sam rolls his eyes expressively. "Right. Well," Steve says, grinning apologetically, "I should get back to the tower, so…"

Sam snorts. "You mean Stark's mansion?"

Steve laughs. "Yeah. Fury wanted us all in one place so we all moved to the tower. Kind of crazy."

"Yeah...five superheroes in one building. Wouldn't want to be there myself."

"Thanks." Steve shakes Sam's hand. "See you tomorrow. Run faster next time."

Sam widens his eyes. "Oh, yeah…"

"Yeah. And thanks for moving to New York, buddy. It's nice having you here in town." _And it's good for Fury and the rest of the world,_ Steve adds in his head. Sam just nods his gratitude and sets off down the pavement, towards his home, away from Central Park. Steve swings his legs over his motorcycle and revs the engine, heading off towards the tower, weaving through the crowded New York streets. The tower really is impressive, if maybe a bit overdone - like the big letters spelling Stark on the side: they irk Steve to no end. But overall they're nice accomodations. Steve doesn't mind, not really.

He almost doesn't see her, standing on the curb, walking towards Stark Tower. Her hair is long and wavy and dark brown, her eyes searching, and she has this alert, intense look about her. It's so familiar. He feels that tug at his heart again, remembers how he was wrong about the redhead, and hesitates. But if he's right...he can't let the moment pass him by again. It's been too long, anyway - far, far too long.

So, experimentally, he tests the name on his tongue, breathing out the familiar syllables. "Natasha?"

The girl doesn't turn, doesn't even stiffen, and he almost gives up, before remembering how impervious Natasha is, has always been, to emotion. Even if it was her, she wouldn't exactly give herself away so easily. He has to try harder. (Why doesn't he just turn and walk away, pretend he never said that name? Why is he so desperate? He doesn't know, doesn't want to know, would rather let that part of him lie in the past.)

So he goes to the girl, taps her shoulder. She turns abruptly, giving him a stare, and in the pale morning light her brown hair looks, for all the world, like it's red - and those dark eyes, he imagines they're emerald, too, just for the sake of his broken heart. Her lips, her cheekbones, her eyelashes, they seem so familiar, the shape of her face and the way she walks, the timbre of her voice. Just like at the party, she watches him silently for a very, very long time, letting the silence drag on as she blinks up at him prettily.

"Cut it out," he says stiffly, at last. "Is it you?"

The girl just looks at him. He grabs her shoulders roughly, desperately, and it's only that moment, that motion that finally elicits a response. She gasps out his name, half-accusingly, and in that instant he knows it's her, knows it's her without a doubt, that Natasha Romanoff is standing here, in front of him, in the flesh, for real. She steps back, and he lets his hands fall back to his sides, breathing heavily. He wishes he hadn't been so rough with her, but he had to know. _Had_ to.

He feels an impulse, a little urge, a thrill of something - but fights it back. She's just a colleague. A friend, at best. She's never meant much to him anyway.

He's lying to himself. He doesn't care.

"Where have you been?" he snaps out, and it comes out harsher, more biting than he intended. She watches him motionlessly for a very long time, then nods to the tower.

"Let's take this upstairs."

So he lets her lead the way inside, lets her step into the elevator before saying again, more brokenly, "Where have you been? What on Earth were you thinking at the party?"

She looks away. If he had the courage to look into her eyes, he might see tears glimmering there. But he's not strong enough to do that, and he's barely strong enough to stand the raw, hideous emotion, the self-hatred in her voice when she bites out, "I'm a _spy_ , Steve."

He doesn't know what to say, so instead he says, "Why haven't I seen you around before? When did Fury move you to the tower?"

She crosses her arms slowly. "About five minutes ago."

"Where have you been until then?" he says.

"On missions, going undercover, fighting crime...does it matter, Steve? What is this? An interrogation?" She's got a little bit of a smile, just a hint of one tugging at her lips, but it's more disbelieving than genuine. Steve runs a hand through his hair absently, shaking his head, not daring to make eye contact (he's so cowardly, he thinks, but he just doesn't know what to do). At last, he meets her eyes again, searching her gaze, her unreadable expression. The elevator comes to a halt, and he presses his lips together, swallowing hard.

"We need to talk," he says.

She looks away again. "Yes, we do."

"In private," he says, stepping out of the elevator. She follows him unerringly. He glances back at her, and words come unbidden to his lips, and because he doesn't know what else to do, he says them. "Natasha, I missed you." He sees her eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, and feels all of his emotions come tumbling to the surface. _You're not supposed to feel this,_ he thinks, _think of Sharon and Peggy._ He tells himself Natasha Romanoff is just a colleague, _a friend at best,_ but underneath he wonders if he should feel this way if that's really true.

He pushes the way into his room, and she follows without a word. He locks the door behind them, watches her settle on the couch and, after a long moment, joins her. In the sunlight, her hair is definitely red, and he can see the emerald in her eyes now, too. Natasha, Natasha, he thinks. Why has it been so long, so very long...her voice cuts through his thoughts, careless and confident and young - "Did you call Sharon? Like I asked?" She's so composed, so strong. How she could ever doubt herself is beyond Steve.

"Yeah. We've been out on a few dates." He adopts a casual tone to match hers, as if she's just a friend and they're just having one of those everyday, ordinary chats that everyday, ordinary people should have. "She's great, like you said. Smart, nice, beautiful…" His voice is too flat, though, and he knows the compliments don't quite sound genuine.

She smiles at him, tipping her head. "I knew you guys would be perfect for each other."

Steve nods, watching her. "I like the hair, by the way," he says, playing with a few strands between his fingers.

"Thanks," she says. "It's my natural look." She quirks her lips. "The one I wore during my Natalie Rushman days."

Steve frowns, remembering what Pepper had said at the party. "Rushman…"

She smiles knowingly. "I was a little surprised Tony didn't recognize me, with what little cover I had. I guess he thought I was just another one of his women, though." Her lips curl in distaste. She's never been a big fan of Tony's. She's the one who wrote "Not recommended" on his recruitment file for the Avengers Initiative, after all.

Steve just nods at her.

"Well, if that's all…" Natasha rises to go. Steve catches her wrist. After such a long wait, he is _not_ going to let her slip away again, not like this. She looks at him quizzically, and slowly, very slowly, sits down again. He knows he should feel honored. Any other man - except maybe Clint Barton or Nick Fury - would've gotten a harsh look, and harsher treatment. Natasha can be lethal. Steve knows that a lot better than most people - better than almost anyone. She's clever, smart, witty, beautiful, athletic, girlish, and very, _very_ dangerous.

"Sharon's nice," Steve says lamely.

Natasha just nods.

He takes a deep breath - as if anything could prepare him for this, he thinks a little bitterly. "I'm sorry for probing earlier...we were all just a little surprised at how long you were gone. And I think we all felt it." He watches her meaningfully. "I know _I_ felt your absence, Natasha. On missions, and on off days."

She presses her lips together.

"I still trust you with my life, you know," he offers, as if this will make everything better. (Which it will not, he thinks. It _definitely_ will not. He's not sure if there's _anything_ that will make all of this better, truth be told.) It's a little like a peace offering, anyway, and it makes Natasha smile - that little trademark half-smile, the smile she'd used so much during their fugitive days when they teamed up to find the Winter Soldier, the smile Steve loves and misses so much. Steve finds himself wishing for those days. Sure, they were fugitives...but they had each other, back then, and they both knew it.

After a long time, she says in a soft, girlish voice, "I still trust you with my life, too, you know."

He returns her half-smile. She blinks at him innocently, as if she hasn't just made his heart skip a beat, as if she hasn't just made him think about everything he's done and everything he wishes he's done, as if she hasn't just made him want to pull her into his arms and - if he's going to be honest with himself - kiss her. Because he's still not quite certain that she's actually real, he reaches out to touch her cheek, his palm flat and warm against her cool, smooth skin. Because she's Natasha, she doesn't so much as wince or blink at his touch.

"You're killing me, Nat," he says softly. "You know that, don't you." It's a statement, not a question. She smiles at it.

"What I don't know can't hurt me," she says nonchalantly. But inside her heart's fluttering in her chest and she feels like she's going to clam up and _damn it, Rogers, get your hand off me._ Almost as if on cue, he does. She instantly regrets it.

"I can't get a read on you," he says, shaking his head, leaning his elbows on his knees and cradling his chin in his hands.

"Isn't that the point of being a spy?" she whispers, giving him an innocent smile. She stands. "I should go introduce myself to Tony and the rest," she says, a little unenthusiastically. He grins at her, clasping his hands in front of him, and she turns, striding confidently towards the door, her black dress hugging her figure, high heels clicking. She wonders what he meant about "Sharon's nice", and thinks she knows the answer.

For all her efforts to keep Rogers at arm's length, he's gotten the better of her yet again.

"Nat," says Barton, and his voice is rough, angry.

"Agent Barton," she stays stiffly, crossing her arms.

"Nat, you can't hide from us for years, and then just come barging in like - like _nothing's happened_ and it'll be alright - you can't hide from us and - "

"Evidently I can," she says coolly.

He shakes his head, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "You nearly killed me, Nat. I can't take it when you do this. I cared about you, I still do...I decided to spare your life, to bring you to Fury, and I thought you trusted me enough after that to not pull something like this. After all of those missions, after Budapest, after always having each other's backs for so long - and then you just run off like that and…" He shakes his head again, faltering. "What was going through your head?"

Her voice is prim, clipped. "That's classified." Somewhere deep down, there's pain, hidden within her, but she keeps it carefully, painstakingly hidden, and Barton will never know, will never read all of the emotions she's hiding, all of her secrets. She decides to elaborate a little, for his sake, just to be fair. "I was on a mission. Fury sent me."

"Well _that's_ obvious," Tony says, snorting. Natasha sends him a look but doesn't say anything.

There's a long, awkward silence, and then Thor says at last, "It is good to have you back, Lady Romanoff. I am glad you're here."

"Thank you, Thor," Natasha says coolly, though her eyes are on Barton.

"Well." Tony clears his throat. "I guess you can go and move in. There's one empty room left. The rest of the rooms are filled. Not all with people, of course, but anyway…" He swallows, glancing at Pepper. "I'd been hoping to keep that room clear, but I wasn't expecting Widow to join us, so…" He shrugs. "I've got to get back to work. You guys can all...go throw a party or something."

Pepper nods at the others, and they all clear out, except for Jane, Pepper, and Natasha. "I'll get you the passcode," Pepper says to Natasha. "Or you can just hack it if you want." She smiles sweetly, though it seems somehow a little artificial - possibly she's still angry about the party. Jane is the only one besides Thor who seems to be okay with Natasha right now. (Except for Steve, of course, but Natasha pushes _that_ thought away as soon as it emerges. She can't think about that. Love is for children. It's a burden and a weakness, not something to be sought after or treasured.)

Pepper hands the passcode file to Natasha and leaves abruptly. Jane gives Natasha a small smile. "I'm really glad you made it back. I don't know why they're all so angry at you...you're a friend and they missed you and here you are again...I think they should be celebrating or something." She gives Natasha a confidential smile and heads off.

"Thanks," Natasha says, but she can't help feeling like she deserves the antagonism the rest are giving her. She glances down at the file Pepper gave her, reading the room number, and takes the elevator to the right floor. She can't help but do a double take when she reaches the door.

It's right next to Steve's room.

And, because it's right next to Steve, it's just her luck that when the nightmares come, and she wakes up in a cold sweat to go get a glass of water, he notices.

He steps out of his room, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, in pants and a tanktop he must've just slipped on before coming out. He's barefoot, just like she is, and she looks up at him, feeling somehow vulnerable in the big hallway dressed only in a black tank and shorts. He takes her in with a single, sweeping glance, his brow furrowing slightly. "Couldn't sleep?" he says softly.

She shakes her head. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he counters her instantly, and she blinks in surprise. "Natasha, you haven't been alright since you got back."

She rolls her eyes, turns away. "I'm _fine_ , Steve," she insists firmly.

"And I'm worried," he says. He's not sure why he said it, and neither is she, but nevertheless, for some inexplicable reason, those words cause her to turn back. The worry, the utter concern in his eyes makes her feel almost breathless, and she hates the shivers that go down her spine, that raise goosebumps on her arms at the sound of his voice. She knows, in that moment, that he can read her like an open book, that she can't hide from him anymore, and she hates it.

"Natasha...you're killing me," he says, repeating his words from earlier. "You know that, right?"

She inhales slowly, telling her heart to slow down.

"Don't do this to me, Natasha. Don't do this to me."

Her iron facade, all of the walls she's so carefully and painfully constructed to hide behind; they all crumble, one by one, until nothing's left. She's just a vulnerable, small girl, a girl who's been manipulated and lied to and hurt her whole life, who knows nothing but blood and fear and pain - the pain of dying over and over again inside, and having to live through it every time, having to wake up and do it all over again the next day. All the coolness, the confidence, melts away, and a single tear slips down her cheek, silvery and small but so, so significant.

It shouldn't matter to Steve, but it does, and he steps an inch closer, his thumb brushing the tear from her cheek, his skin warm and soft against hers. She stiffens slightly, tries to put up those barriers again, but she can't - not now - and she's not sure she really wants to, anyway.

"Don't hide from me, Natasha," he begs. "Please. You don't have to hide from me."

"My ledger is gushing red, Steve," she whispers, recalling Loki's words from so long ago. "And I can't wipe it away. Every night my demons torture me for what I've done, and every day I have to wake up and do it all over again." She draws in a shaky breath, and the tears are coming in a stream now, in an unending river; and Steve draws her close, holds her against him, stemming the flow of her tears with his gentle hands.

"What you said about Sharon…" Natasha says at last, if only to talk about something, anything different.

"She's nice," Steve admits. "But she's...she's not you."

Natasha pulls out of his embrace, hating how weak she feels, and gives him a half-smile. "She's also a better person than me, Steve."

He shakes his head. "You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot." She looks at him in confusion, and sees he's chuckling, smiling. "Natasha, you are the most beautiful person I know. Sharon just can't compare. Peggy...was like you, but less...less intense, less _real_." His smile dims a little. "You've been a good friend to me, too. When you asked me who I wanted you to be - and I said I wanted a friend...you've been that person for me."

She nods again, and he can see that she's Natasha again, composed, calm, collected. He doesn't know if he regrets that or not. He's about to say something else, and Natasha waits for him to go on, but he never does.

Instead, he kisses her.

She's never been loved before and she doesn't know what to say, but Steve is sure she's not just another pretty face, and he's willing to stay with her forever.

And she finds she's willing to let him stay with her forever, too.


End file.
